


Unfinished Works

by Onlymystory



Series: Unfinished Drabbles [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Dark, Drabble, Hunter!Stiles, Multi, One-Shot, Team Human, this fic is open for others to continue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-15 20:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onlymystory/pseuds/Onlymystory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Derek had decided that the humans, well Lydia and Stiles since Allison was already doing hunter work, needed to start training with traditional weapons so they weren’t liabilities in a fight. Chris was teaching them how to use a rifle today.<br/>Correction. Chris was teaching Lydia. He thought he was teaching Stiles. Allison was practicing. But then, no one actually knew that Stiles had done this before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hunter Stiles

**Author's Note:**

> Any of the pieces in this series are drabbles that I probably won't finish and as long as you credit me, I don't care if you use the piece as inspiration or directly use some of the actual writing itself in a different story. Hell, even if I do continue it someday, i don't care if you use these pieces, just send credit.
> 
> Edit 10/2015: I'm trying to edit down some of the works on here, so rather than delete, I'm just combining these into different chapters in one work. Seemed like it made more sense based on the way other authors compile drabbles or unfinished works. Plus then my works list isn't so crazy.

Chris and Derek had decided that the humans, well Lydia and Stiles since Allison was already doing hunter work, needed to start training with traditional weapons so they weren’t liabilities in a fight. Chris was teaching them how to use a rifle today.

Correction. Chris was teaching Lydia. He thought he was teaching Stiles. Allison was practicing. But then, no one actually knew that Stiles had done this before. With good reason. He hadn’t actually given any interest in carrying a weapon beyond his bat.

Stiles sighs. “I’m doing this under protest.” But he picks up the rifle and looks out at the targets. Ten of them for himself, Lydia, and Allison.

Lydia had hit four of her targets and she was currently scribbling formulas on a piece of paper. Stiles assumes it was to help her understand trajectories and turn shooting into a mathematical problem. Which was fine and all for target practice but it wouldn’t help her in an actual life or death scenario.

Allison hits eight of her targets, missing one nearly hidden in brush and the farthest one out. She seemed pissed about only getting the bullseye on two, even though Stiles wants to point out that a bullet in a body still takes the target out, even if it isn’t an immediate kill. Allison’s bullet to the dummy’s ribs is still effective.

He thinks about telling her that really, the heart isn’t the best place to aim anyway. But they’ll probably get that anyway.

The cold metal in his hands feels good. Too good. There are reasons that Stiles doesn’t carry a gun, that he chooses to use a bat and his wits to protect him when fighting with the pack.

This feeling of power, the knowledge that he has a small amount of control over life makes him feel like Death. It’s heady and he gives a little whine of contentment as the gun settled into his hands.

The others laugh and tell him he’ll probably hit at least one target. Well, it’s good they think the noise was protesting.

From the corner of his eye, Peter gives him a sharp look, and Stiles knows that Peter understands the truth.

Chris is talking. Stiles makes a concerted effort to tune into instructions on how to use the gun and the best way to aim. He nods where he’s supposed to and eventually Chris stops and indicates that Stiles can go ahead.

Stiles raises the rifle and sights his first target. He does a slow sweep, picking out each one, memorizing the location and the angle he needs to hit it.

“Want us to move ‘em closer for ya, Stilinski?” laughs Jackson.

“Just pick one that seems easiest,” says Chris, from Stiles’ left, a few feet behind him. “Nothing wrong with missing your first time out. This is just an exercise to see which areas need more focus.”

“Placement test,” mutters Stiles and he can sense the smiles.

“Exactly.”

Stiles closes his eyes and breathes, decides his order, opens his eyes and fires into the second closest bottle. He hits it at the greatest pressure point, causing it to shatter instead of merely break.

It’s a smooth, effortless movement to adjust his aim and fire again, a split second later at the next target. A minute passes and then he’s lowering the gun and closing his eyes. “Someone take it please,” he says quietly.

Peter has the gun before the others can understand what Stiles is asking, brusquely unloading it, flipping on the safety, and placing it back on the weapons table.

Stiles waits a little bit longer before opening his eyes and turning to the pack. To say they’re shocked might be an understatement. Derek and Chris are both wide-eyed, as is Scott. Jackson looks jealous, Lydia looks like he’s a new puzzle to solve. Actually, Allison looks a bit jealous too and Stiles supposes that makes sense. Everyone thinks of Jackson as the competitive member of the pack but Allison and Erica can rival him any day of the week.

He’s kind of glad the beta trio are patrolling right now. There’s enough people staring already. The only comfort is Peter, who seems to be understanding something. It should be frightening, being on common ground with Peter, but Stiles has been there for a long time and Peter is actually the only one there who’s old enough to remember more details than he should.

He’ll have to talk to Peter later.

There’s silence as Jackson and Scott bring back the targets that had bullseyes on them, checking to see how well he did. Stiles doesn’t look at any of them.

He breathes, even and deep, calming himself, reminding himself where he is, and more importantly where he isn’t. He’s settled by the time the boys return.

Chris looks sharply at Stiles when he sees the dummy, though Allison crows a little. She was only looking at the painted on target, not the full dummy.

“I knew you couldn’t be perfect. You still missed one!”

“Allison!” snaps Chris, causing her to quiet down. He turns to Stiles. “That’s a kill shot, Stiles.”

The bullet hole is straight through the face, just to the side of the dummy’s nose and at the corner of the right eye..

“Isn’t a kill shot in the forehead?” asks Jackson, genuinely curious and confused at Chris’ wary tone.

“Any shot in the head is almost guaranteed to kill the person,” agrees Chris. “But they’ll still have anywhere from a few seconds to minutes to know what’s going on. Unless you shoot the brain stem.”

“Well obviously Stiles doesn’t know that,” says Scott, glaring at Chris.

Chris glares back. “Really? Then maybe Stiles can tell me how he managed to completely miss the target, over the heart. Did you know to aim for the nose, Stiles?”

Stiles shakes his head, but speaks before anyone can be indignant on his behalf. “Bones in the front of the skull are hard to penetrate without a specific type of bullet. Aiming for the nose still creates a margin of error. The eye-sockets are the best choice because they don’t create the same level of resistance.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you could shoot?” asks Derek.

“Because I don’t like to,” answers Stiles honestly. “And it hasn’t been necessary yet.”

Lydia studies him. “So you would if we needed you? Really needed you not just if it made the fight easier?”

“Yes. You’re still my pack. If it came to it, I’d protect you any way I know how.”

That seems to release the tension in everyone. Derek and Chris call an end to training, saying they need to reevaluate the best way to go forward, now that they know Stiles doesn’t need beginner instruction.

Even Lydia is a bit above a beginner.

“You would have made a good hunter,” says Chris quietly, as he loads the last case into his SUV.

“I was a great hunter,” answers Stiles and walks away.


	2. I Told You Not to Fall in Love with Me

Stiles recovered before Derek did so he just listened to the werewolf panting next to him. Four months of ridiculously hot sex and Derek still couldn’t stop practically attacking him every time they were alone.

Not that Stiles was complaining. If you were going to be fuck buddies with someone, you could do a lot worse than Derek Hale.

Derek snaked an arm over Stiles’ stomach, pulling him in closer.

“Derek? Uh, what are you doing?” asked Stiles. He was pretty sure if there was a gay Kama Sutra that he and Derek would have exhausted it by now but there were unspoken rules.

There weren’t dates. No one spent the night. They sure as hell didn’t cuddle.

This had been established after the first few times they had sex and then Derek went back out the window and Stiles was good with that set up. Contrary to popular belief (and admittedly his well-documented obsession with Lydia helped shape public opinion), Stiles was not actually interested in being anyone’s boyfriend.

He liked the arrangement they had. It worked for him. Now Derek was breaking the rules.

“Sleeping,” mumbled Derek, turning towards Stiles so his cheek pressed into Stiles’ shoulder.

“We don’t do that,” insisted Stiles.

“I’m not proposing Stiles, just sleeping,” grumbled the wolf. “Can’t we do that? It’s been a long day and I’m tired and I don’t want to go back to my place and deal with the pack right now. Just shut up and go to sleep.”

Stiles sighed. “I just…”

Derek propped himself up on one arm and looked at Stiles. “Look I’m not saying we have to change what we’re doing. This seems to work for us. Okay?”

“No changes?” verified Stiles. “This is still just about plain old sex.”

“I’d like to think I’m better than plain but yes.”

Stiles relaxed for a moment. “Are you going to want to make sleeping over a habit?”

“Is it so bad if we do?”

“I guess not. You just have to promise not to fall in love with me.”

Derek laughed. “Very funny. Lydia’s been making you watch too many Nicholas Sparks movies.”

Stiles sat up, pushing against Derek’s arm. “I’m serious, Derek. You and I are not dating. We are not in a relationship and you spending the night is purely for convenience. Promise you won’t fall in love with me.”

The werewolf took a good long look at Stiles. “I won’t. Stiles, this isn’t one of those things. I promise. My feelings are locked away, safe as houses.”

Stiles breathed easier and lay back down. “Okay. Okay.”

Derek squirmed back over and pulled the sheet over them both. “Sleep now,” he said, voice starting to drift off again.

Derek slept. Stiles lay awake for a long time. He let Derek tangle his leg over Stiles’ and nuzzle deeper into his neck. But Stiles stayed still, staring at his ceiling and wondering if he was an idiot to agree to this.

“Safe as houses,” he whispered finally into the blackness. “If only there was anything safe about me.”


	3. Team Human

The Alpha pack arrived six months ago.

 

Loyalties and allegiances are a mess no matter where one looks. Pack members who don’t understand how bonds work, humans who are fighting against the ones they can see so easily, leaders unwilling to compromise.

 

A hunter’s caravan pulled into Beacon Hills one week prior.

 

Rumors of ghosts and demons tormenting the town are rampant, ripping through tenuous bonds.

 

Three teenagers sit in a diner on the edge of town.

 

“This shouldn’t be our fight,” says one. “We were dragged into this mess, forced to participate by others.” She wears ginger hair—strawberry blonde some might have once called it—twisted around her head in a warrior’s crown. Her eyes are lined with purple, a color she wields with purpose for some time now. To an uneducated observer, she looks the picture of a pretty teen out with friends. To the discerning gaze, one would approach cautiously, for her eyes are harder than many twice her age. To those familiar with the woman before them, it is easily accepted that the safest place is at her side.

 

It is unwise to make an enemy of a girl with a mind that can create 37 ways to kill you using mere household objects.

 

“Does it matter how we came into this world? Not one of us bowed out when given the opportunity. Running hasn’t been an option for a very long time.” The boy who speaks next knows something more of making choices. He’s been making dangerous, deadly, and fiercely loyal ones for months before the girls he sits with. Some are easily explained while others only make the slightest sense in his darkest hours, when he admits to feelings he’s unready to face and bonds he dares not admit to. Such choices are reflected in the despairing hope in his eyes, in the small scars on his cheekbone and jaw, in the way he is vigilant even to the slightest noise.

 

He chose this more so than the other two. Still somewhat ignorantly, but he knows there has always been enough clarity for him to make an informed decision and he always stays. The women—girls—they seem to all float so easily betwixt childhood and adulthood—understand him better than those who have benefited longer from his loyalties. To many he is a nuisance, butting in where he shouldn’t be, insisting on doing more than his strength allows. Some would say still a nuisance but also a helpmeet. One that can be relied on to appear in an hour of need, even if the help is minimal.

 

Rare are those who see the value of this man. You cannot buy loyalty or earn loyalty such as his and what is freely given is not easily lost. It is no mystery why enemies give him a strong berth, wiser than many who would call themselves friends.

 

The final member of the trio, a girl with dark hair and vibrant eyes that spark in ways that inspire her friends, reaches hands out to both. Her sleeves are long, hiding any number of blades, and the pins in her hair are the epitome of functional. She falls somewhere between the others, a part of something because of others, choosing to stay for herself.

 

It is she who has struggled to understand trust the most. Those who had hers proved unworthy and she was hesitant to give it to those who earned it. She is equally deadly as the two before her. A leader who has yet to claim her position, her influence is far greater than her friends. The days of hesitating and protecting herself are over though. She has a calling and one does not ignore such things.

 

“It no longer matters who started this fight,” she says firmly. “The battle has begun and it is we who will decide who wins the war.”


	4. Tell Me Happy Endings are a Myth

Stiles knows Chris and Derek are having a meeting. He knows this. It’s supposed to be a treaty of some sort, a way to work together to deal with the Alpha pack. The other hunters and pack members were given strict instructions not to interrupt or to provoke the other side until the meeting was over.

But Stiles doesn’t care. Because today he came home to find his dad crying at the kitchen table. It’s his mom’s birthday today. And somehow, in all the supernatural bullshit, Stiles had forgotten or pushed it aside to the point that it hadn’t registered.

He didn’t really think it could hurt this much. He’s spent months fighting the next battle, facing the next problem, waiting for a victory. It always seems like just around the corner is the moment of peace. The final win when everything goes back to normal.

He would have thought that the hardest part about today would be the reminder that even if the werewolf side of things improved, he was still the kid that never figured out how to live without his mother. She’s always the void that can’t be filled. But the thing that clicked, the truth that shone the brightest was that this isn’t going to end. The supernatural stuff wasn’t going to reach a stopping point. He’s stuck in a never ending cycle.

The realization sent him into a panic attack and that got the rest of the pack involved. Whispered words of comfort, even hugs were all offered. But Stiles doesn’t need that. He doesn’t want anyone to tell them that he just has to get through today. What Stiles needs is honesty. And from both sides in this battle. He needs the good guys and the bad guys to tell him the truth.

That leads him here, to the little cabin when the woods where Chris and Derek are trying to make a deal.

Stiles slams open the door and both parties look up, startled. He considers the fact that it’s not good if Derek didn’t smell him.

“What are you doing here, Stiles?” asks Argent. “This meeting is strictly off limits. To everyone.”

“I need you both to tell me the truth,” he says, knowing this doesn’t make sense, that he doesn’t make sense.

They stare at him, because of course neither one has a clue what he’s going on about.

He’s tired and frustrated and the words sort of spit out of his mouth. “This. Fighting. Protecting. Death. All of it. We win a battle and a new war is declared. And I need someone to tell me that it doesn’t get better. I need someone to admit that the world sucks and this mess that is our lives is bullshit. I don’t need someone to tell me I can walk away because I can’t. I know about this world now. You can’t walk away from it. Because walking away means wondering if the homicide the news is reporting is really a homicide or if I need to start researching fairytales. “

“I’m stuck here,” he says wearily. “In a never ending cycle of loss and there’s no way out. No one’s ringing a bell at the end of the final round.”

“Do you want a way out?” asks Derek.

“If you don’t see a reason to keep fighting, you can stop,” adds Chris. “It’s impossible to fight a cause you don’t believe in.”

Stiles voice is steady. “I believe in it. I have eight living and three dead reasons to keep fighting. I don’t need a pep talk or a reminder that people need me. I wouldn’t risk my life every other day if I didn’t know that. I just want someone to be honest for once and admit that our lives are fucked up and that it doesn’t get better.”

Derek and Chris give Stiles a long hard look. He knows they get it. They’ve lived, they’ve fought, they’ve killed. Stiles is fairly certain they reached this point too. He wonders if everyone who fights the demons of the night has to hit a wall, so they can step back and acknowledge the wall before the time comes to smash it down and keep going.

“Just tell me happy endings are bullshit,” begs Stiles. “I’m just asking for a moment of honesty.”

“Happy endings aren’t a myth,” says Derek.

“We just fight for someone else to get one,” finishes Chris.

Stiles takes a deep breath. And another. Somewhere inside a little spark that died out a long time ago comes back to life. He’s never been an optimist and people have been trying to shove hope at him for too long. Stiles is a realist. Give him cold hard truth and he can deal with anything.

He straightens. Turns to leave. “Thank you.”

“Stiles?” Chris is watching him. “Now what?”

“Now?” He can see in the eyes of Derek and Chris that he’s been accepted at a new level now. This moment changed things.

“I keep going.”


	5. O Where O Where Has My Humanity Gone

“Damn, Stiles!” laughed Jackson, as Stiles’ onscreen character was sawing into the flesh of the victim. “Who knew you could fake being a killer so well.”

Stiles’ face paled and he froze for a split second. Then he muttered a little under his breath. “None of you see it. I should have known. Why would you see it now if you never did before?”

“Stiles, calm down,” said Lydia. “No one cares if you play a convincing bad guy. Sorry if we didn’t realize you were such a thespian before,” she added, rolling her eyes a little at him.

He stood up in a panic and hurried out the door. The wolves barely caught the words “I’m not him. I never was.”

“I don’t understand what the big deal is,” said Scott. “So Stiles is a good actor. Better than we realized. Good for him. It’s not like we think he’s going to act like his characters.”

The others nodded in agreement, even Derek.

“You are all stupider than I even thought possible,” was Peter’s comment, looking at the pack with no small bit of disgust. He’d tried to talk with Stiles once in a while but got pushed away. So he’d kept watch at a distance, even as the rest of the pack let the boy slip away.

Peter had watched every single role Stiles ever played. He knew better than anyone what it looked like when there was more monster than man. And there was very little humanity left in Stiles at all. Bringing him back, healing him…it would take everything the pack had in them and that still might not be enough.

“I’m still the Alpha,” growled Derek. “You don’t get…”

“Shut up, Derek,” snapped Peter, interrupting him. The glare in his eyes seemed to clarify that he wasn’t being sarcastic. “The man you see on the screen, oddly gleeful over torture? That’s Stiles. The nervous kid on the couch was an act. He’s not that Stiles anymore. And he hasn’t been for a very long time.”

“Stiles, isn’t evil,” insisted Scott.

Peter sighed. He needed them to get this. “No, he’s not. He’s human. And you all keep forgetting that.”

“No one forgets that Stiles is human.” Erica flipped her hair out of her way. “We’ve always been careful not to be rough with him.”

“You remember that he’s physically human. You’ve stopped treating him like a human on an emotional level since he was sixteen years old.”

“I don’t understand,” said Boyd, but he seemed to be genuinely confused so Peter didn’t feel so inclined to be angry with him.

“Oh,” breathed Isaac.

“You get it?” Peter had wondered if Isaac might. He was the only one with the potential to understand that darkness the way Stiles did, the way Peter did.

Isaac nodded.

“Explain.” Derek snarled.

“We’re not human,” began Isaac, and Peter nodded his encouragement. “I mean we are, there’s are human side, but the wolf means we understand things differently. Like when there’s an enemy that needs to be killed, the animal side understands that as part of life. It’s natural.”

“Humans understand life and death,” interjected Allison.

“But it’s more than that,” insisted Isaac. “It’s prey versus predator, the whole food chain thing. Humans get that in theory and in the sense of human versus animal. And werewolves, as supernatural beings, get it in the sense of supernatural versus human. But humans aren’t supposed to be killing others like them. That side of us doesn’t get it from a nature’s way perspective. It makes sense to us as wolves to kill, even humans, out of necessity.”

“But a human’s morality, when it hasn’t been completely fucked up, is to view killing another human form as wrong,” added Peter. “Except we spent years dragging Stiles in on every single battle, insisting he help out. The wolf knows how to separate the moral issues. It keeps our human side pure.” His voice is saddened, because he barely made it out of the hell his humanity was locked into and he still struggles to overcome the desires. “Stiles doesn’t have a wolf. We taught him, just a boy, that killing was natural. And you don’t think that after all the years he saw the gleam in our eyes, the pride in a successful hunt, that he started taking joy in it as well?”

Scott’s eyes were wide. He didn’t pick things up as quickly but he could be impressively aware when it came to Allison and Stiles. “Peter, are you saying that because we forgot to treat Stiles like a human, that he’s not one anymore?”


	6. Tattooed Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I initially started this one less out of my love for a Stiles with tattoos (though I love that) and more because back in early 3A, there were some bnfs bitching about people who liked a tattooed Stiles, as though Stiles could never grow past a fear of needles or have a reason to need tattoos. It pissed me off. Of course, it always tends to piss me off when someone tries to tell people how to write fic based on their personal preferences. Write what you want to write, what you want to read, and if you don't like something, click out.

Stiles gets his first tattoo when he’s nineteen. It’s a fairly simple thing, though a lot more visible than he ever would have thought his first choice for a tattoo would be. It covers the top of his left hand, the edges of the ink trailing just the slightest bit towards his fingertips.

Over the years with the pack and the various enemies they face—from kanimas to hunters, alpha packs to demons—Stiles works with Deaton on wielding magic. He’s not Lydia, he’s never been able to channel magic. And he’s not a witch, able to use magic at his will. But Stiles learns that some things come with their own innate magic, and if used properly, can be wielded through his mind and belief.

Runes take him awhile to master. He understands the concept of a rune, particularly as used for warriors in battle. But unlike mountain ash which can be set in place and then assigned belief later, runes won’t work unless you impress your belief upon them when drawn and when used.

They’re better when permanent too, so it’s over Christmas break his freshman year of college that he agrees to get a protective one tattooed on his hand.

Derek and Scott keep insisting he stay out of the fights, citing the numerous times he gets hurt.

Stiles understands their concern, he really does, but it’s not in him to sit back and watch. It’s in him to want to. Oh how he ever wishes at times that he was the type of person who could run away. But when a fight starts, Stiles has always been a man of action, throwing himself into the midst of danger in an attempt to help his friends.

It’s Peter who suggests the rune tattoo initially, noting his ability to do the ink for Stiles.

Ethan—who stayed with the pack after falling in love with Danny their junior year—shares a recipe from an old grimoire that will help. The recipe mixes a particular blend of mountain ash, salt, and iron dust with the ink, insuring that an enemy couldn’t damage the tattoo and obstruct the magical nature of the rune.

Stiles sketches the design out at school, infusing it with his belief that the runes will do as designed, even as he draws on temporary paper. The piece blends three different runes. One for protection, another for deception to allow him to lie to supernatural beings if necessary, and one for release. That last one is deliberately ambiguous as to what he can be released from.

He gets kidnapped a lot. It will help.

A day after being home for the holidays, Stiles heads over to the pack house.

“Nervous?” asks Scott. He’s calling Stiles since his break doesn’t start for a few more days.

“Not really.” The day Peter paid for Bluetooth to be added to his car was one of the best days. He’s possibly the epitome of the guy in those warning commercials that’s digging for a cell phone. At least it’s usually because of an emergency. “It’s not that big all things considered.”

“Dude, you passed out when I got my first tattoo. That was just watching.”

Stiles scoffs. “I passed out from the secondhand embarrassment.”

Scott’s silence is telling.

“Okay, more like, seventeen year old me had more delicate sensibilities. Plus you know I don’t react well when I have the time to actually notice other people’s injuries. I nearly fainted on Derek during that whole possible arm removal thing too.”

There’s some sort of shuffling sound in the background, probably Scott getting another slice of pizza, before Stiles hears a response. “Yeah that makes sense. Not like you were always going to be the same guy you were back then. Hell, back then you were barely over Lydia.”

“And now I have a single dorm so I can get visits from my hot werewolf boyfriend and have lots of sex.”

Scott groans. “Yes, many times in many different positions, quit tormenting me.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. So what if Scott can’t see. “This from the guy who has been in a polyamorous relationship since junior year.”

“So basically we’re going with tattoos are now no big deal because you grew up and are not permanently stuck with your seventeen year old personality?” asks Scott.

“Yup,” answers Stiles.

“Cool.” The distinct sound of Scott stuffing half a pizza in his mouth can be heard over the phone. “Anything else? I need to write this paper for my animal biology class.”

“Oh no go ahead, I’ll send you a pic when Peter finishes,” says Stiles and hangs up for the final couple miles until the Hale house.

Isaac and Allison are napping on the porch when he arrives, so he just waves when Allison’s eyes blink open before heading into the house. Allison stayed in town and joined the police academy after high school while Isaac is currently undecided. He does some pretty kickass comic work though and sells commissions online.  
Stiles has every intention of joining Allison on the force someday, but he wants to be Sheriff and that requires a degree.

He knows better than to expect Lydia, Ethan, or Danny to be around, all of them still at school or work. Erica & Boyd are still traveling the world, but they call on a weekly basis now and the pack bond is as strong as Stiles can make it considering he only sees them around once a year. They’ve moved past the issues that made them run away in high school--narrowly dodging the alphas arrival as well--but neither Erica nor Boyd has a wish to throw themselves back in the dangers of Beacon Hills. Stiles can’t really blame them.

“Stiles,” says Peter in greeting from the kitchen. “How goes sophomore year?”

“Good,” answers Stiles, stopping to dump his bag and snag one of the freshly baked cookies off the rack.

“I saw that.”

Stiles twists to meet Derek’s kiss. “You made my favorite.”

Derek huffs. “I believe someone said I had to make peanut butter blossoms because you would be in torture levels of pain for the evening. Despite the fact that I promised to take the pain away while Peter tattoos the rune on your hand.”

Stiles grins. “I have to let Peter touch me,” he stage whispers as he cringes in an over-exaggerated manner. 

Peter rolls his eyes at him. “Can I see the sketch?”

“Yeah.” Stiles snickers as he hands it over.

“This is good.”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I do study these things you know. And it’s not my first time drawing runes.”

“I meant the drawing itself,” corrects Peter, though he’s no less snarky about it. 

“Oh. Yeah, I took a couple art classes last fall. Just some basic stuff but I thought it wouldn’t hurt for some more complicated runes.” Stiles snags two more cookies and sits down by Peter. “So you can do it, right?”

Peter starts arranging his tattoo gear, pulling the ink and the right needles closer to him. “As soon as you’re ready.”

Stiles shoves the last cookie half in his mouth. “Ready.”

Derek raises an ever so expressive eyebrow.

Stiles shrugs. “No point in putting it off.” He scoots his chair closer to Peter, putting his left hand up on the table. When he first asked Peter to do his ink, Chris was there--as he always was lately--and suggested Stiles put the runes on his left hand since it was less dominant and more likely to be uninjured. Breaking the runes would be difficult no matter what, but better if they weren’t on his fighting hand.

Derek nods at Peter and sits behind Stiles, one hand gently massaging his neck while waiting to take the pain.

Peter cleans Stiles’ hand with antiseptic and presses the sketch over his hand, then reaches for his tattoo gun. Stiles flinches for a second at the first feel of the needle, but he keeps his eyes on Peter, rather than his arm. No one makes fun of his squeamishness about blood these days. He’s proven over and over that his discomfort won’t stop him from doing whatever needs to be done.


	7. Omega

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First warning, this particular unfinished work is pretty dark. It deals with depression and self-harm and basically the dark side of becoming an omega. I wanted a very serious version of Stiles getting kicked out of the pack.
> 
> That said, this was also one I never really finished because I initially wrote it as Sterek, with Peter being a genuine friend and advocate of the pack. But as I'd go back and reread, I found myself liking the idea of Steter. That perhaps I could take it as Derek and Stiles did have a connection, but though they'd be able to be pack and friends, that potential was lost. As Stiles healed though, he and Peter would grow closer. But I just don't know if I'll ever get back to it, so here you get some of the idea.

Peter knocked on the door of the Stilinski home with no small amount of trepidation in his heart. There was far too much that he needed to talk to John Stilinski about for one day and yet if Stiles was to continue to heal, John needed to know it all now. If Peter felt such a need to protect Stiles, with only the pack bond and a fondness for the human inspiring the need, John would never be able to stay here once he knew. And if John didn’t understand, he could hurt Stiles more. So yes, Peter was more than a little nervous.

The man who opened the door looked exhausted and unnaturally aged. “Peter?” asked John. “What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk, John. May I come in?”

There were reasons John was a good sheriff and a good father. His estrangement from Stiles didn’t change the fact that he loved his son. He’d just been assuming the things going on with his son were human rebellions, that Stiles was choosing to drive the wedge between them. It was forgivable, at least in Peter’s mind.

“Stiles,” gasped John, realization dawning. “Something happened to Stiles, didn’t it? Peter, is my son okay?!”

Yes, that was the panic of a father. Peter knew then that he was making the right choice. “No, he’s not,” answered Peter honestly. This wasn’t a time to sugar coat things.

“Where is he?!” demanded John.

Peter stopped John’s rush past the door by gripping his arm.

John glared at Peter, anger in his eyes. “Let me go and tell me where my son is.”

“I will,” assured Peter. “John, I will tell you exactly where your son is and I will take you to him. He is not okay right now, but he’s safe. And he will get better. But you can’t help him until you know the whole story. I wish it was the sort of thing that could be told in a few minutes. I wish even more that Stiles could tell you himself. But he can’t. You will only make it worse if you don’t understand what he needs. So please, let me inside and I will tell you everything.”

Peter didn’t move his hand but he didn’t try to enter the house either. He just waited, doing his best to convince John that his intentions were pure.

John relaxed slightly, though the worry in his eyes only intensified. “Okay. Come in, I’ll make some coffee and we can talk. But when this is done, you will take me to my son.”

“Of course.”

~

Peter was trying his hardest to hold back the shift. Everything in him wanted to revert back to the psychotic killer he was as the Alpha. The wolf that only thought to take revenge on whoever hurt the people he loved. Stiles was his family, his pack, and Peter loved him. Would protect him.

It was only the shock and horror that he felt from the rest of the pack that was holding back his rage. They didn’t know. They thought Stiles just left them, that Stiles would choose to be selfish, choose to leave the people he’d spent nearly three years risking his own life to save. Peter wanted to scream at them for being a bunch of fucking idiots.

But they were young. He knew this. The rational corner of his brain, the one that sounded like a mix of Stiles and Talia and his older brother, reminded him that they were all bitten wolves. They’d been turned in a war and never really been trained on how to recognize pack, how to scent people out and find the connection.

Peter could sense that the betas were worried about Stiles. That they were angry with their Alpha and not sure how to direct that anger in constructive ways. So he clung to their emotions and worked to settle his own.

As he calmed down, centered himself, let the wolf soothe his human emotions and his human reason pacify the wolf’s animalistic passion, Peter looked to Stiles.

Who wasn’t there.

“Where did he go?” asked Peter hurriedly. At the brief looks of confusion, his voice came out desperate. “Stiles. When did he leave?!”

The betas focused for him, Peter’s senses still too heightened to focus on any one thing. He was panicking.

“He’s in the kitchen,” said Erica, finding the human’s heartbeat.

Peter took a breath. Okay. Food, water, that was okay. His heart rate skyrocketed back up at Jackson’s next words.

“Why does he keep saying ‘find the spark’?”

Peter howled in fear, unable to use words and ran towards the kitchen. He could sense the pack right behind him and they all skidded to a stop in the large open doorway.  
Peter’s heart was breaking for Stiles. It was too soon. He’d pushed too soon, he’d tried to heal Stiles too fast.

And yet…underneath that heartache was a sense of gratitude. He didn’t know how to truly explain the way Stiles was when he found him. The things Stiles had gone through to even begin to make it back to human.

If the pack could see this, Peter could stop trying to find words to describe what hell looked like. He’s been there. Derek’s been there. Stiles is still there. It’s impossible to understand without going through it but to see the pain is to have the best comprehension possible.

All these thoughts run through his mind in seconds before he’s diving towards Stiles.

Stiles is sitting on the floor, hoodie and shirt folded neatly on the ground next to him, a box of matches set in front of him.

For some reason the neatness always frightens Peter the most. A happy Stiles is one who throws his things around without abandon. His mind is sharp, everything in its place. His surroundings are a mess because this is who Stiles is. But now Stiles’ mind is chaos and he compensates by controlling the outside.

Peter can sense that the folded clothes are affecting Lydia as well. She reacted in much the same way when he had used her to claw his way out of death. It was moments like this that reminded Peter he wasn’t allowed to stop apologizing for doing that to her.

The pack stared horrified as Stiles lit a match and pressed the flame against his arm, burning a mark into the skin. His eyes are glazed and unseeing as he whispers to himself. “Find the spark, Stiles. Spark died. You were supposed to be the spark but you killed it. Gotta find the spark again. Can’t burn out. Burned out, kicked out.”  
Peter is yanking the matches away from Stiles, putting out the one on his arm and holding onto the broken boy as he mutters. “Pathetic Stiles. Can’t be a spark. Can’t be pack. Find the spark. Don’t be useless. Always pathetic. Always broken. Spark will fix it. Be good, Stiles. Find the spark.”

It’s the gasp of empathetic pain from Jackson that reminds Peter that Stiles is shirtless in front of them and they can see his scars. He knows they must have thought from his descriptions that Stiles burning himself was like an early stage cutter. Scars on his forearms, maybe light ones on his wrist, but nothing more. It hadn’t been that long after all.

But Stiles’ body is littered in scars. The marks are red and brown, rough and papery in some spots, raw and open in others.

Peter gently pulls Stiles’ hoodie back around him, sheltering him from the pack. “Stiles,” he murmurs. “Come back. Come back to us.”

“Find the spark,” insists Stiles but his voice is breaking and Peter knows this is a good sign.

“We’ll find it together. C’mon Stiles, you can do this. You can find your way back, just follow my voice.”

Peter keeps murmuring, sometimes using words, sometimes just purring sounds, the comforting sensation always able to find Stiles wherever his demons have him locked away.

He can sense the pack around them. Allison and Isaac are in tears. Danny is outside with Jackson, their most sensitive pack member being so overwhelmed that he knew his pain could affect Stiles. Erica is digging long claws into her own leg, breath coming out ragged. Peter is fairly certain that she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.

Derek is…lost. Peter can’t sense the Alpha’s emotions but he can tell his presence remains in the room. Peter will worry about that once he gets Stiles back.

And he knows he does have to worry about Derek’s reaction. There is a long healing process to go through, from many wounds. But he brought Stiles back because the boy belongs to this pack. He is pack, more than any of the bitten wolves or mated humans and he could be more than that. Peter knows that Stiles will never be fully whole again until he and Derek find peace. Peter doesn’t like it, hates that truth in fact, but it doesn’t matter what state Stiles is in, Derek is always the first thing on his mind.  
It’s so dangerous to be drawn to someone so completely. This is why Peter aches for Stiles. But he won’t help make Stiles whole only to leave him with a Derek who has fallen apart.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh damn. I just do so love fic that jumps a few years into the future, has just enough happen to Stiles to make him go dark, and yet not irredeemable. And I love a bamf!Stiles. 
> 
> This is one that I could still go back to. Its just...sometimes even if I love an idea, I still need the comments or the kudos. Its rough to write fic with no feedback. So I'd say if this particular story is one that you'd actually want to read, leave comments and I may find my way back to it. Not guaranteeing, just saying its one that still has its teeth in me a little more than some of these others.

The Alphas have come to Beacon Hills to recruit. That's how they work. They look for Alphas. The best of the best. Ones that they can tempt into joining their pack. Derek is determined to refuse them. He has a pack. He has responsibilities. Deep down, he likes his power and he won't be a submissive Alpha.

That's really not a problem for the Alphas. The recruitment list only has one name. It's not Derek Hale.

Of course, they don’t share this with the Hale pack. They constantly target Derek and the other wolves, one—Aiden—even launches a brief attack on Chris Argent and his few remaining hunters.

Derek fights with everything he has to get rid of the Alphas. He accepts Boyd & Erica back, even listens to Peter’s suggestions on ways to fight back.

He insists that Stiles and Lydia stay out of the fighting. That’s not exactly difficult for Lydia since she hasn’t had much interest in being a part of the pack. Her focus was on Jackson, and when Jackson left, she withdrew.

Stiles argues with Derek, wants to help. He won’t leave his friends alone.

Derek pleads with Stiles, reminds him that he’s too easily injured. When that doesn’t work, Derek pulls the Sheriff card. Stiles caves and returns home to wait. He readies his first aid kit and hopes that this crazy plan of Peter’s works.

It does.

Actually, the plan works a little too well. The entire fight takes barely an hour and leaves three Alphas dead. Kali, the leader, stands panting at a slight distance, ready to run.

Derek snarls at her. “Beacon Hills is ours. I won’t join you. Not now, not ever. Find your Alpha somewhere else.”

Kali smiles, cruel and devious. “Silly pup. You were never the Alpha we wanted anyway.”

Peter snaps his gaze over to her, puzzled. “I’m not an Alpha anymore,” he says.

At the same time Isaac, cradling a slowly healing broken arm, speaks up in a worried voice. “The twins aren’t here.”

Peter and Derek’s eyes both flash with awareness but it’s too late. A second later, every member of the Hale pack is on their knees, a scream of agony rippling through their minds and the feeling of loss, as though a thread of connection has been snipped, hits every one of them.

“Stiles!” howls Derek.

Kali spares only a moment before she’s running too. “We wanted the best, Derek. We always get what we want.”

Scott nearly manages to keep up with Derek in the pack’s race to the Stilinski home. The Sheriff is alive, bruised and bloody and eyes streaked with tears but he’s alive. It’s the tiniest of comforts.

He tells them about the two men who came after Stiles, who wouldn’t fall even when he shot them. John looks over at a still wolfed out pack, puts the pieces together and sags back against the wall.

Stiles was alive when they took him. He fought like hell but John says that one bit Stiles’ wrist and then Stiles seemed to pass out.

For six months, the pack searches everywhere. Deaton, Morell, Derek, and Peter call in every favor they have but there’s no trace of Stiles or of the Alpha pack.

They don’t give up exactly, but eventually everyone has to move on as best they can.

Peter and Derek build a house on the other side of Hale property, with a small guest cabin that’s meant to be for visitors. John ends up living there, unable to sell his house but finding it too painful to live with ghosts and memories.

After graduation, Allison and Chris move to Boston. There haven’t been any attacks in Beacon Hills and there’s no reason to stay. Scott goes with them, but his departure doesn’t hurt the pack. Without Stiles to bring them together, Scott never truly became a part of Derek’s pack.

Lydia does end up joining the pack as a witch. Her powers are more limited, relying on what she can come up with in a chemistry lab, but her immunity keeps her safe.  
She brings Danny with her one day, saying he needs this, even if he doesn’t know he does. The pack welcomes Danny with open arms. He takes the bite at the end of the summer after high school.

~

Five years after their world was destroyed, a man knocks on the door of the Hale house den.

~

Werewolves tend to make a transition look easier than most supernatural creatures. Vampires deal with bloodlust, zombies (yes, they exist, no, the world isn't going to end up in a zombie apocalypse) need brains, but werewolves don't have a singular craving that takes over. And if a human is turned into one of the handful of other half-human creatures, it's at great personal sacrifice, the kind that messes with your head.

But just because the bite is a gift and inspires leather fetishes, it doesn't mean there aren't still struggles. They just show up a little differently.

Scott's natural desire to protect his friends seemed like a burden when it became clear that he actually could. Boyd struggled with committing to the pack, being so afraid that eventually he'd end up the kid alone at lunch again. They manifest in different ways but every turned werewolf has something to overcome.

If you'd asked Stiles what he thought his problem would have been, he might have said being able to focus or being a weaker werewolf.

The thing he learned though, is that the problem likes to stem from one's greatest strength and greatest weakness.

Stiles would have done anything for his pack. For Derek too, but that's a detail he rarely thinks about. But where Scott would sacrifice himself to save the people he loves, Stiles will sacrifice anyone in his way.

He took time to learn this with the Alphas. Remembering that he was the one who went looking for a body in the woods. He was the one who willfully dug up a grave.  
Threw the first strike against Peter. Suggested killing Jackson. He won't ever tell Isaac this but as far as Stiles is concerned, he thinks it's lucky that the kanima killed Mr. Lahey. Stiles would have made it hurt. A part of Stiles that he refused to deal with until the bite forced him too had been in agreement with Derek that if Lydia had in fact been the kanima and there hadn't been a cure, she would have had to die.

At the time, that feeling frightened him. Love, obsession, infatuation, delusion...whatever it was that he felt for Lydia for years wasn't enough to keep a quiet part of him from insisting that she might have to die.

So when Stiles turned into a werewolf, it didn't take long for him to realize that his struggles would be a little bit different. He likes the kill. Maybe a little too much.

No, definitely too much.

The smell of death? Stiles revels in it.

He doesn't do clean kills. He refuses to negotiate. If the Red Wolf puts you on his list, the option is kill yourself quickly, or wait for Stiles to have his fun.


	9. Memorials

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This bit was initially supposed to be each of the characters having a cathartic moment after all the deaths and loss. I never ended up getting past Allison, so here it is. Um, it's all post-deaths, but obviously its all about a memorial and primarily to Erica and Boyd.

The memorial isn’t actually held until three weeks into the summer before the pack’s senior year. There was a small funeral, a Hale pack ritual performed when they buried Erica and Boyd, but no one wanted to hold a true memorial if it was going to end up quick and half-assed. Their friends and packmates deserved better.

So it takes a few months to beat the alpha pack and a few more after that to figure out what the hell the darach business was and take it down. Somewhere in the middle of that the Sheriff and Danny learn the truth, Gerard is killed, and Ethan defects. After the crazy evil goes away for good, Scott and Derek have to figure out how to work together as alphas, in a way that doesn’t destroy the semblance of pack they’ve managed to find.

And then one day just after they’ve all breathed easy—and expressed their joy that school’s out—Isaac quietly tells Derek that he reserved the little chapel at the cemetery, insisting that it’s time.

This is the last step the pack has to take before they can be whole. It won’t lessen the pain of losing Erica and Boyd, but it will help them heal, and that’s the best they can ask for.

The service is awkward to say the least. No one really knows what to say. A disturbing number of them are familiar with funerals, of staring at pictures of people who left them far too soon and wondering how this is supposed to help.

Ethan stays away, knowing that pack now doesn’t mean pack then, and his presence would only hurt. But he sits quietly with Danny in his apartment and he thinks that few people have the kind of loyalty that Boyd does, though Beacon Hills seems to have an abundance, and that Erica Reyes showed more passion in the few weeks that he knew her than most of the people he’s ever known.

_ At least there aren’t any well-intentioned acquaintances around to make things worse, _ thinks Stiles. He got enough of that after his mother died.

Derek tries to get through a few words, but he falls apart during an attempt to apologize for not being better, so both Cora and Scott help him sit down, Scott whispering words too low for even the other werewolves to hear.

Isaac finally suggest they don’t say anything, that maybe it’s okay if they’re all just here, saying goodbye in their own ways. More Isaac

Allison is glad, gladder than the others that she no longer might have to speak. What is she going to say? That maybe Boyd and Erica would have escaped if she hadn’t caught them first? Hadn’t weakened them? Hadn’t let her grandfather torture them? Erica might be going on those roller coasters she once mentioned dreaming about after seizures, Boyd sitting at her side, grinning with that wide inhibited excitement he so rarely showed.

But she had a hand in ripping any chance of that away from the pair, and no amount of regret or guilt is going to change that fact.

It’s why she’s taken to slipping out her window at 3am on the nights that she isn’t with Scott and Isaac, ordering terrible coffee and marionberry pie at the 24 hour diner on the edge of town. It took her two weeks to notice Derek in the dark corner booth. When she asked why he never said anything, he just pointed out that most people don’t want to share the reasons they can’t sleep night after night. They sit together now.

Derek helps, oddly enough. He won’t talk about the things she’s done, and Allison knows he blames her as much as she blames herself. But he knows what it is to carry guilt that can never truly disappear and he doesn’t judge the rest of her based on those actions.

So Allison sits in the back of the chapel with Lydia and she repeats apologies in her head as she says goodbye.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes to a wishing well to bring Derek some happiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't know. There's a #5 at the start of this bit I wrote but it was in a random untitled doc. So I'm guessing it was supposed to be a 5+1 thing that was about making Derek happy but I clearly never got any further with it.

It gets to be a bit of a habit for Stiles, hanging out with Derek. He goes to the wishing well about once a week, just because he doesn’t want Derek to think those good days were just a fluke. Derek deserves all the nice days. But they hang out other times as well. 

Turns out Derek may not be a criminology major, but his degree in history helps him consider other perspectives. He’ll sit on the shitty couch in Stiles’ dorm without saying anything about the way it has to reek to high heaven and play devil’s advocate until Stiles’ papers are finished with well-thought out arguments and theses. Derek leaves cheeto dust on the arm of the couch sometimes which confuses Stiles’ roommate, especially since Stiles claims to hate the taste of them, despite bags always left in the little snack cupboard.

They go to movies a lot now that Stiles knows Derek likes them. It’s not even the movie itself, it’s just the popcorn and milk duds--Derek insists on mixing it all together and then licking his sticky fingers all through the movies--and the whole experience that Derek seems to love.

Scott and Lydia usually tag along for any romantic comedies. They’re both super sappy and get overly invested in the movie and have stars in their eyes afterwards. Isaac likes sci-fi stuff. Kira, being an equal opportunity comic fan, tags along to any superhero movie and dissects any and every deviation from the source material afterwards. Stiles usually just argues with Derek about how much better DC is from Marvel, though he allows that Marvel is doing better with the women lately.

Allison comes along for all the really awful movies, the ones they can’t help but see during cheap matinees and mock vociferously. Stiles likes to throw popcorn during the cheesiest lines and Derek’s always nice enough to reach behind and around to steal his junior mints, instead of getting in the way of Stiles’ aim. 

It’s not that surprising that one day Stiles realizes it’s been three weeks since he made a wish, and that just won’t do.

“Wishing well, wishing well…” he begins, standing at his usual spot.

“Oh my god, you cannot be serious,” comes a strange voice. 

“What the fuck?”

“It’s me. The well. You’re not very bright are you?”

Stiles glares. “What is that supposed to mean? And why are you talking? Just let me make my wish.”

“Oh your wish for Derek Hale to have a nice day. Now that’s original. Way to be creative.”

Stiles does not appreciate the wishing well’s tone. “Excuse you, it’s a perfectly acceptable wish.”

He swears the well would be rolling its eyes if it had them. “Really, you haven’t noticed the pattern. Every nice day Derek has involves you. So how about instead of throwing quarters at my face every few days, you just go ask the man out already and give me some damn peace?!”

 


	11. Severed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Scott's friendship breaks up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a long time to like Scott (and that's due a lot more to fanon than canon even now). But I kinda have to accept that this fic which was about Stiles being with the pack and breaking up his friendship with Scott (or really Scott breaking it first and Stiles just realizing it) is unlikely to get finished. I would have taken it darker at the time and now I don't think I'd go that direction, so here's the bit I had.

Stiles had the strangest sense of foreboding as Allison opened the door to the basement. He dismissed it as stupid and random, and followed Allison and Chris with Scott and Isaac just behind them.

It wouldn’t be until much later that Stiles would realize why he hadn’t recognized the door of the stairways. He’d been unconscious going down them, and half-blind, bleeding and bruised going out. His body knew the space but his mind had blocked it out.

But as fate always did like to be a bitch, halfway down the stairs, Scott started moving too fast and jostled Stiles. The sensation sent every memory of his torture flooding through his mind.

It wasn’t quite a panic attack. And it wasn’t quite a case of PTSD. Stiles has figured those out. But for some reason, his mind chooses a specific way to respond to the overload. He half fell down the rest of the stairs before cowering in the corner. Something in him registered that he was screaming, indecipherable screams of sheer terror. Stiles could feel his heart racing, head pounding, and he swore the sensation of electric shock waves were going through his arms.

He never mentioned that part to anyone.

Well. He doesn’t tell a lot of things to anyone these days.

When Stiles finally came to in a sense, at least able to sense a few things, his mind catalogued the following events. He couldn’t process them, or what they meant in that moment, but he knew they happened. So he remembered.

He wasn’t on the floor anymore. Someone held him in their arms.

Derek was in front of him, half-wolfed out and snarling at Chris and Allison.

Isaac was shaking, overwhelmed by so many strong emotions.

Chris looked worried, for Stiles, not for himself.

Boyd was holding him. That surprised Stiles. He wouldn’t have expected that.

Scott kept trying to touch him. Stiles knew he didn’t want that. He didn’t know why.

Erica was clawing at Scott every time he got too close.

Stiles buried his face in Boyd’s chest and ignored everyone.

~

It would take about twenty minutes and everyone moving outside to the front lawn before Stiles looked up again. He squirmed just enough to be let down, but appreciated that both Boyd and Derek stayed next to him. Erica hovered in front of him.

“What the hell did you do to him?” roared Derek at the two Argents.

Stiles shakily put a hand on Derek’s arm. “Nothing. They didn’t…I panicked, Derek. It wasn’t them.”

“Why would Stiles be scared of my basement?” asked Allison quietly, her voice unsure.

“Because your fucking psychotic grandfather beat the shit out of him down there,” snarled Erica.

Stiles thought the she-wolf sounded pretty scary, but it was Boyd’s warning growl that made him nervous.

Allison and Chris look shocked. Isaac looked like his suspicions had been proven. Scott stopped trying to dodge Erica and stared at Stiles. “That still bothers you?” he asked.

Something in Stiles severed.

It doesn’t snap. He knows how snapping feels. That happened the moment Lydia cured Jackson. This is different.

Later, when he’s sitting on his bed next to Derek, with Isaac rubbing his hair and Erica curled around his feet and Boyd singing quietly, he’ll think about the differences. How when something snaps, the fall-out and healing often takes a while, even though the change was instant.

But severing…it’s like a frayed rope, one you can see falling apart for weeks, even months, and you keep holding on as though by sheer force of will, the torn rope can be mended. Until the last thread severs itself away from the rest of the rope.

Right now though, Stiles realized a very important truth. It wasn’t that he and Scott really weren’t friends anymore. It was that Stiles didn’t want to be.

“You knew?” asked Derek and everyone there could hear the danger in his tone.

Stiles knew Scott didn’t mean it how it came out. That Scott most likely was surprised, because Stiles covers things up so well, so Scott’s surprised at this information.

But the thing is, Stiles is pretty much shit at covering up his feelings, especially to a werewolf. There are reasons that Erica no longer yanks him around places, why Derek only uses a gentle touch. Because everyone who bothers to spend more than five minutes with him can see how much he’s hurting. And that’s the problem. It’s been five months since that day Stiles promised Scott he’d always be there and Scott never promised anything in return.

If you forced Stiles to think about it, he’d say that was the first step in the rope falling apart.

More importantly than what Scott does and doesn’t know now, is what he used to know. Because Scott was there when Stiles’ mom died, just as Stiles was there when Mrs. McCall finally kicked Scott’s dad out of the house. Stiles and Scott have been by each other’s sides for everything so Scott does know about all the other shit Stiles deals with. And none of that has mattered lately. Not when Scott can try to start his own pack by buddying up with Isaac and trying to get back together with Allison.

The girl in question spoke up, distracting Stiles from his thought process and saving Scott from answering. “Stiles, I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know Gerard took you. Is that why you won’t talk to me?” Her eyes filled with tears.

Stiles looked straight at her and the venom in his eyes made her recoil back against Chris. “I know you didn’t know about me.”

“Then why?”

“Because you knew about Boyd. You knew about Erica. But it’s more than that isn’t it? Just knowing, well, that’s bad enough, but it might be forgivable. But Allison you put them there. You shot two teenagers, your classmates, full of arrows and then carried them away to be tortured all because you couldn’t figure out how to deal with your precious grief.” Stiles doesn’t raise his voice or get emotional. His tone is cold, detached, like he’s observing a dissection project in biology class. “Your mother killed herself, Allison. She made a choice. Derek didn’t force her to put a knife through her heart on your bed. He bit her because he was fighting for his life and for Scott’s.”

Stiles stepped forward, away from the safety of the pack and stared down at the two Argents. “Do either of you two get that? You loved a boy, Allison. A boy who loved you back and wanted more than anything to stop being a slave to what he saw as a curse just so he could keep loving you. Then your mother tried to kill him and make it look like an accident. That’s not a bad reaction to a dangerous situation. That’s pre-meditated. Scott got bit by a psychotic werewolf because he followed his best friend into the woods one night. He didn’t ask for this. Didn’t want it. He’s made that perfectly fucking clear.” Stiles took a brief second to glare at Scott. “Never mind the fact that Scott insists that he could be happy on lacrosse & with friends & you if he wasn’t a werewolf and conveniently forgets that it was werewolf hearing that allowed him to know you needed a pen that first day at school. Werewolf reflexes that got him to co-captain of lacrosse. And those things are what made anyone but me give him the time of day at school.”

Stiles heard Boyd’s snort of disgust at Scott behind him and turned back to Allison. “But your mother didn’t care about that. She didn’t give a shit how you felt, or whether putting herself in danger could hurt her family. She didn’t make a decision of leadership. She made one out of bias and prejudice and hatred. The only person at fault for her death is Victoria Argent herself.”

Chris reached his hand out, then aborted the movement. “Stiles.”

Stiles whipped his head over to Chris. “You,” he sneered with complete disgust. “You who preaches about a code and honor and only killing those who are killers. You who ignored the monsters your father, sister, and wife were becoming because at least they fought for what you decided was the good side. And then you found out just how much your sister had been capable of. And I know you figured out the rest of it, Chris, because you’re a smart man. But you still insist on trying to kill Derek and the people he is slowly learning to care about. Was it not enough to let him live with the guilt? Not enough to know he sleeps with the taste of ashes in his mouth every night? You had to continue the torment.”

Stiles moved back to the reach of his pack, letting Derek pull him close. Chris and Allison were in tears. He looked the pair directly in the eyes one last time. “I never want to see either of you in Beacon Hills again. You will never harm a member of my pack again.”

Scott finally spoke again. “Derek is part of your pack now? And Allison didn’t…”

Stiles cut him off. “Don’t tell me she didn’t mean it. She did. If she’s honest, she’ll admit to it. But yes, Scott, I am part of Derek’s pack. He’s my Alpha. And he has been for a very long time.” There was nothing but pure honest truth in his words and everyone there could hear it, werewolf or otherwise.

“But you’re in my pack,” protested Scott. “You and Isaac.”

Isaac spoke before Stiles could, taking a strong step away from Scott and towards Erica. She gripped his wrist firmly. “Derek is my Alpha. I thought you were my friend.”

“I am.”

“Would you still be my friend if you knew I’d never leave Derek’s pack?” asked Isaac quietly, knowing the answer.

“Isaac, you just don’t know what he’s capable of,” said Scott.

“I know he’s capable of noticing me in a crowd,” said Boyd, startling the others.

“He saw a girl who was beautiful and strong,” added Erica. “Derek might fuck up a lot but I have friends who care about me and know me as more than Seizure Girl because he took a chance first.”

“I know he saw bruises and abuse and saved me instead of ignoring it,” noted Isaac.

“Derek saved my life,” said Stiles softly. “He saved it after I dug his sister out of the ground. He saved it after I accused him of murder. He saved it after I planned out how to murder him. I set his uncle on fire and he trusted me. Derek trusts me, he saves me, and on the days that I’m lucky, I get to save him right back.”

Scott was speechless.

“You only ever saw the bad in him,” finished Isaac. “But there’s too much good to be ignored.” He linked his hand in Erica’s. “Goodbye Scott.”

The rest of the pack turned to walk away. The betas walked down the street. Derek waited at the Camaro, sensing Stiles need a moment but staying nearby.

Allison and Chris moved back into the house.

Scott and Stiles stared at each other for a long time.

“What happened to ‘You’ve still got me’?” asked Scott finally.

Stiles’ eyes filled with tears. “I never left. You did. This is just me accepting it.” He turned from Scott and walked to the car, sliding into the seat without a sound.


End file.
